


Those Ships on the Horizon

by orphan_account



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Private School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Navires à l'horizon détiennent toujours les rêves de ceux sur le ravage.<br/>'Delphine put on a smile, preparing to great this mystery stranger. “Bonjour,” she began as the girl turned around but when she saw the long, wavy brown hair, the glasses, the chestnut brown eyes… “Cosima?”'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Ships on the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, it's Georgie here with a probably awful Cophine fic but oh well. It's an AU set in a Private School for intellectually gifted girls. There is more to it than that but I can't reveal that yet, it'll ruin the suprise (; Anyway, I hope you enjoy! ((If I've made any grammatical errors or you have any constructive criticism please tell me, it will be very welcome))

Navires à l'horizon détiennent toujours les rêves de ceux sur le ravage. 

The words were always on her lips, poised at the top of her tongue like a cobra ready to strike. Their mystery was enticing, feeding a hunger for answers that lived deep in her stomach. Each syllable was so pretentious, like a quote from an over franchised teen romance book, but somehow it felt personal, like the phrase was a dress tailored just for her to wear. She’d never heard it anywhere else, no-one knew what she was talking about when the gentle philosophy would spill quietly from her lips; the sentence was hers. The thought of them, of how the words had made their way into her head, made her squirm and smile and laugh and cry. It confused her and angered her, her limited recollection of a childhood in Paris being the only clue toward where it came from. She felt like there was a thick veil between her and the truth; she could see the simple outlines of it all but the details were missing. She loved the sound of it, the gentle sloping vowels and the short consonants, the mystery that the phrase wore like a shroud. Wherever the phrase had come from, it was dead now and most likely whoever had said it was, too. 

Her gentle musings were interrupted by a series of obnoxious high pitch rings from various parts of her room. She sat up slowly, her head falling back and hitting the wall, a sigh escaping as she realized what today would be. 

The alarms continued as she shook her head, dispelling the last glimmers of sleep that still lingered on in her brain, uprooting the fatigue that clung to her mind like a weed in fertile ground. She tossed her covers to the side, discarding the white sheets as she stood and began her routine of turning off each of the simultaneous alarms that were required the break the spell of sleep that fell so heavily upon her. 

Her bare feet rejoiced in the soft carpet as the cool morning breeze from the open window caused goose bumps to rise on her exposed legs. The over-sized Green Day shirt that she wore to bed whipped gently around her thighs as the wind caught it, making her shiver. 

Her clothes were already laid out, the restlessness of the night before having been a trigger for her mild OCD. Everything was there, the black skirt and white shirt, the deep burgundy coloured tie, the slightly too big blazer, tailored by her foster mother to fit a little more flatteringly on her slender frame. She went to grab her underwear, opting for a bland black bra and a pair of simple black cotton panties, she grabbed a bunched up pair of rose patterned black tights, pulling them up her long, smooth legs. Slipping on the compulsory school uniform, she felt each carefully selected materiel in turn, the part polyester – part cotton shirt serving as a reminder to her of what would be happening that day, what she had been dreading since the beginning of the summer. 

She looked in the long mirror mounted on the door of her wardrobe, surveying each component of the outfit individually with scrutiny and displeasure. Though the school prospectus had specified a knee-length skirt, the hem of her own fell comfortably about halfway down her thighs. Her eyes scanned over her legs in disgust, paying particular attention the scars that were barely visible through the material of her tights. Next on the list was her shirt, the white material remained untucked from her skirt at the bottom, the button at her collar sitting open causally, the tips of her collar bones visible through the gap in material. She ran her hands down her sides, self-hatred running through her mind as she looked at her small breasts in the mirror. Her tie was pulled down from its place at her collar, the knot landing at the second button of the shirt, the tip fell to just below her naval as apposed the non-visible waistband of the skirt she wore. Her blazer sleeves were rolled up; exposing a few inches of the flimsy lining, and her left lapel was adorned with a collection of different badges in an attempt to draw attention away from her face and towards the colourful array. Her wrist were burdened with five or so rubber bracelets each, with everyone proudly bearing the name of a different band, but a couple of angry red lines were visible through the gaps between each one revealing the intended purpose of the jewellery. 

She moved away from the mirror, the sight of her own body becoming too much and making her feel physically ill. She sat down at her dresser, gently combing her fingers through her mass of golden curls, now reaching just below her shoulder blades. Her foster mother had tried every way possible to brush her hair properly in a way that wouldn’t disrupt the natural beauty of her curls but every one of them had left her hair frizzy so she had finally resigned from the mission and allowed Delphine to take out the knots with her hands. 

She rearranged her parting, looking in the small mirror as little as she could while still perfecting the look, and pushed a few stray curls from her face with a sweep of her hand. She stood from her place at her desk, opting against makeup for that day as she wasn’t sure how it would be received at her new school, and went to grab her worn faux black leather backpack, slinging it casually over her shoulders and picking up her black suede creepers as she left the room. 

She took the stairs two at a time, hating the feeling she got when she spent too long on the almost ridiculously steep oak staircase. Her tights snagged on a splinter as she went, but she ignored the pulling sensation as she tried to make it to the kitchen as quickly as possible to great her mother. 

“Good morning, sweetie,” her foster mother smiled as she walked into the kitchen of the old house. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m good, mom, how are you?” Delphine replied shortly, accepting the bowl of cereal that her mother was presenting her with. 

“I’m great actually. I’ve already made your lunch and I have the day off work so I’m free,” she laughed, sitting opposite the teenage girl at the table and starting to eat her breakfast. “Are you looking forward to your first day at your new school?” She attempted to slip the question in casually, but her voice had come out with a pleading tone, begging the teenage girl to be compliant and not go mad like she’d done at the school visit. 

“Yeah, mom, it’s going to be great,” she lied, keeping her eyes fixed on the bowl of sugary cereal to try and hide the look on her face. She hated the idea of going to private school, but a private school for ‘exceptional young ladies’ sounded even worse, it was bound to be filled with rude, stuck up brats who were only there because daddy had got them expensive tutoring since the moment they were born. 

“Well that’s wonderful to hear. You better hurry, the bus leaves in ten minutes and if you’re going to make it to the bus stop you’ve got to leave soon.”

She stood up immediately, grateful for the excuse to leave and running out of the house as quickly as possible, stopping only twice; once to put her bowl in the sink and once to die her laces, before the door slammed shut. 

“Bye dear,” her mother whispered sadly to the empty room, the sound of Delphine’s unfinished bowl of cereal clattering in the sink being the only barrier against the silence. 

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************

Delphine sat, disinterested, through the predictable welcoming speech, listening to the head teacher practically recite the school’s prospectus in a droning monotone voice from the stage at the front of the theatre. She had begun as they all did, with an attempt at an enthusiastic ‘Welcome to the Bridgedale Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies’ and had gone on to speak about how ‘lucky they were’ and how they were split up into programmes to help develop their ‘gifts’. Everything about it seemed forced, from the previous students sitting in the overly formal clothes on the front row to the teachers in their precise line at the back, blocking off all the doors and any hope of escape. 

Her eyes were scanning the slightly crowded room, silently judging each overly preened and groomed girl, when she felt a movement beside her. She turned to look at what had caused the disturbance when she found herself face to face with a girl, their noses almost touching they were so close. She had green eyes framed with grungy, smudged black eyeliner and pale skin, her uniform seemed to be entirely incorrect down to the Doc Martins on her feet but the most striking thing about her was her bright blue hair. The girl began to lean closer, moving her head slightly to the side until her lips were right by Delphine’s ear, her breath causing a tickle on the side of her head. 

She let out a gentle breath before speaking, her voice holding an urgency and her eyes wide as if what she was about to say could save or destroy the world, “This speech…” she began, her words slightly husky and holding fairly subtle cockney accent, her breath ragged. “…sucks monkey balls.” 

The seriousness that voice held while speaking these entirely ridiculous words was too much for Delphine and she burst into a fit of giggles, her contagious laughter causing the girl next to her to break down, too. The head teacher’s eyes snapped to where they were, her face turning purple at being interrupted. 

“YOU TWO!” She shouted, her voice trembling with rage, “GET OUT! NOW!” 

The girl with blue hair grabbed Delphine’s arm and pulled her up, strutting out of the room with a confidence that Delphine couldn’t quite seem to find within herself. She pushed her way between two teachers and through the door behind them, all the while pulling Delphine along with her. The door swung closed behind them, muffling the tedious speech that continued in their absence.

Delphine looked through the glass, mortified that she had managed to get into trouble on her first day but there was something else there. Her heart was beating erratically, adrenaline coursed through her veins; she was feeling something she hadn’t felt in years, something that made her face split in a tremendous smile. She was excited. 

“I’m Sarah,” she turned to find herself, once again, face to face the blue haired girl. This time, however, the personal space rule had been applied and instead of an almost sensual presentation of words there was an outstretched hand. She accepted the hand-shake graciously, revelling in the strong grasp of the girl in the front of her. 

“Delphine,” she responded, attempting the mask her French accent but it seemed she hadn’t done very well. Sarah’s eyes widened and she smiled broadly, looking at her a little longer than would necessarily be considered normal as she registered the Parisian voice. 

“You’re French, that’s pretty rad. I’ve got someone else from Europe to talk to. I’m 'British'. I grew up in England until I moved here last month to attend school here. I’m in the English Programme and the Dramatic Arts Programme. My dad always wanted me to go into music, he was in the London Philharmonic and does loads with recording artists for orchestral instruments in songs but I always showed promise in English so we did Dramatic Arts as a sort of compromise and I’m actually pretty good at it. What programmes are you in?” 

Delphine suddenly felt very shy, she didn’t come from a rich or talented background (as far as she knew) and she’d been put into four programmes here. Was that more than normal? Would she be a standout? She began to panic but when she looked up at Sarah, with her friendly smile and caring eyes she found herself begin to speak;  
“Um, I’m in Biology, Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics,” Delphine said quietly, looking at the wall behind Sarah as she spoke. 

“Four programmes? That’s pretty cool! I have a friend in all of those programmes! I’ll introduce you to her I think you’d both hit it off really well! Her name is-”

Sarah was cut off as the doors to the theatre opened and students began to pour out, all in perfect lines with perfect hair and perfect uniforms, glaring at the two girls as they passed. The pair tagged onto the end of one line as it came past, following it down into the administration room where they would be given their forms and the class schedules. 

“Hey, Delphine, do you have any classes with me?” Sarah asked as she walked over to the awkward French girl. 

“Um, I’m not sure. Let’s check.”

Looking over each other’s timetables they found that they shared P.E, History, Geography, Music, Art and I.T, as well as being in the same form group. Sarah began to snicker as she compared the timetables, escalating into a harsh, rasping laugh that rung out strongly in contrast to the meaningless babble of the other students. Delphine began to ask why but when Sarah looked at her, she only laughed harder, pushing the two timetables into the girl’s hands and pointing to the final class that they shared. 

Delphine finally understood why Sarah was laughing so hard, beginning to laugh herself for the second time in only an hour. There was something about Sarah that just made her smile, made her want to laugh for days on end; she’d never had a best friend but she assumed that this was what it felt like. Well, it was a lie that she’d never had a best friend; she’d had one years before, when she’d first moved from France. They’d met at swimming lessons and- she stopped her thought stream there. The memories were still too painful to bring up; the end had been messy and abrupt. 

Sarah finally managed to stop laughing, once again looking down at the two timetables and the coinciding class that had been so amusing. “You have to take French,” Sarah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re gonna be better at French than the actual teacher," Sarah gave Delphine a mocking pat on the back to accompany her remark, "but you're gonna have to help me, and that's not going to be fun for you."

Delphine was about to say something about the girl Sarah had been talking about earlier but was interrupted from the topic again by the bell. They walked out in lines towards their respective form rooms, where they would spend the next two periods doing overly drawn out team building exercises and learning each other’s names in different, stupid ways. 

There form was situated in a computer lab, so it was cooler than the rest of the school, but that didn’t stop it from being uncomfortable. Delphine felt lost amongst the twelve girls, who had all very obviously come from rich backgrounds, and in that moment she could not have been happier to have had Sarah there; but she wasn’t there. 

She began to panic, searching the room for her only friend, and spotted a head of blue hair from behind a pillar. She walked over as quickly as possible, making sure the avoid contact with anyone else in the room, but as she got closer she realised she was talking to someone else. Not wanting to interrupt, Delphine lingered just behind the other girl, hoping to catch Sarah’s attention over her shoulder, and her prayers were answered when she lifted her eyes from the small girl and met Delphine’s hazel eyes. 

“Delphine!” she said attempting to sound disinterested though her excitement was evident in her voice. “You’ll never guess what? Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. This is the girl I was talking to you about earlier, the one you share your programmes with!” 

Delphine put on a smile, preparing to great this mystery stranger. “Bonjour,” she began as the girl turned around but when she saw the long, wavy brown hair, the glasses, the chestnut brown eyes… “Cosima?”

“Delphine?”


End file.
